


if you want me, i'll come back and meet you

by rarmaster



Series: haven't had enough [3]
Category: Tales of Symphonia
Genre: Discussion of Major Character Death, Gen, Lloyd has a no good very bad time, Lloyd's got it bad but it's pretty gen for a romance, Time Loop, Time Travel, discussion of suicide, pre relationship etc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:18:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarmaster/pseuds/rarmaster
Summary: Mithos visits at Flanoir.Zelos doesn't take it so well.(Direct sequel toyou can't stop (this).)





	if you want me, i'll come back and meet you

A snowball hits his window.

Lloyd jolts upright, alert. He’d been expecting something, of course—they were in Flanoir for the night—but he’d been expecting a knock on the _door,_ not… that.

Heart in his throat, Lloyd goes to the window and pushes it open and sticks his head out, gritting his teeth against the sharp cold. Who…?

His heart stops dead.

“I want to talk to you,” Mithos calls, from below.

Lloyd hisses through clenched teeth, sending a glance back to the door. No one’s knocked yet. Is Mithos early? Is whoever was planning on coming tonight late? Does Mithos being here fuck that up or…?

He doesn’t know, and he’s worried because Zelos is here and if Zelos sees _this—_

But Lloyd doesn’t really have the choice, does he? He has to take this risk, because what if it’s the right one? ( _After all, if anyone knows how to get to the end of this journey without Mithos dying, it… is Mithos, isn’t it?_ )

“Coming!” he tells Mithos, and closes the window.

He tries to be quick and quiet about getting out the door and down the stairs because he doesn’t want to wake Colette or Zelos or Sheena—well, none of them are sleeping, probably! But! He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. He tries not to think about where they will be, in about twelve hours from now. Tries not to think about Zelos’ sword turned against him.

( _Zelos wouldn’t, right? This had been a pretty good loop._

 _But talking with Mithos sure would put a wrench in Zelos’ trust, huh!!!_ )

Lloyd meets Mithos outside the inn ( _this is weird!!_ ) and before Mithos can say anything ( _that’d be weirder!!_ ) he just kind of nods his head and starts walking to the place he always has a conversation with _someone_ on this night. It’s far enough away from the inn that only if someone followed would they be overheard ( _though he’s not putting it past anyone to follow him, unfortunately!!_ ), and the illusion of privacy is nice.

Walking with Mithos through town while neither of them say anything is the weirdest thing Lloyd thinks he’s ever done, though. He tries not to worry too much about whatever it is Mithos wants to talk about, but not thinking about that just makes him think about Zelos ( _“I said I trusted you!” “Yeah, and how was I supposed to believe that, after—_ ”) don’t think about it don’t think about it _don’t fucking think about it._

“Okay, here should be good,” he says to Mithos.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, kind of wishes he’d brought his coat. It’s _freezing._

(He’s jealous that Mithos can just choose not to feel it!)

Mithos stops next to Lloyd on the deck overlooking the city below, though Mithos’ eyes are on Lloyd and not on the view. He puts a hand on his hip, looks Lloyd up and down. There’s something… far too knowing in those intelligent eyes. Lloyd can’t believe he’s trusting _this_.

“Nervous?” Mithos asks, with a little laugh—the sharp-wit and almost fondness that Lloyd isn’t used to and makes him more uneasy than it soothes him. This last loop has been _really_ weird, with Mithos knowing. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Lloyd says. He fidgets a little. Does not think about Zelos. “Look, can we make this quick?”

Mithos raises his eyebrows, playing at being amused. “What? Not even going to scold me for hurting Altessa?”

Lloyd pulls his hands out of his pockets and shoves them in his armpits instead—it doesn’t help much with the cold but it does help him with his restlessness. “You do that every loop, I figured it was inevitable,” he answers, grumbling out the words. ( _He’s tried, before, to make a change there, but things just get too dicey in that moment if he intervenes so since no one dies he started just letting it play out as always. Not stopping at Flanoir is more nerve-wracking, anyway._ ) “Can we _please_ cut to the chase?”

Mithos sends him a curious look, but then he turns away, eyes looking over the snowy cityscape though Lloyd is pretty sure he’s not seeing it. He’s silent for a long moment. Lloyd fidgets, but he makes himself wait.

( _He doesn’t want things to go wrong with Zelos but he also can’t chase Mithos off_ now _, what if this time really is the one_ —)

“I spoke with Origin,” Mithos says, finally.

His voice is quiet, words stolen with the frosty wind. Lloyd shivers. Takes a step closer to Mithos, to the railing, curious.

“Yeah?” he asks, kind of surprised. He knows Origin… isn’t very happy, with Mithos.

Mithos laughs that short little laugh again. “I was surprised he spoke with me, too,” he says. “But apparently telling him that I knew he was helping you time travel was enough to get the conversation going.”

“Right.” Lloyd kicks his feet against the ground. Rubs his hands up and down his arms. “What… did he tell you?”

Mithos still doesn’t look at him. “Confirmed that you’ve been time traveling. And that you aren’t lying about how this ends.”

“Oh.”

Mithos doesn’t say anything, he just stands there, still as a statue. It might look natural, had he been leaning on the railing, but he doesn’t—he’s rigid, hands at his sides, eyes distant like he’s somewhere else entirely. The wisps of white air that leave Lloyd’s lungs every time he exhales aren’t coming from Mithos’ mouth. Either angels’ body temperatures are too low to cause that, or Mithos isn’t breathing.

Lloyd kind of figures it’s the latter.

“Are you…?” he begins, but feels kind of weird about asking if Mithos is _okay_. “How are you feeling, about that?”

Mithos doesn’t answer for a moment, doesn’t move.

“I wanted to ask you a few things,” Mithos says.

Lloyd nods. “Alright.”

“About my sister,” Mithos continues, haltingly. He speaks as if the words are lodged in his throat, as if each is a shard of glass that he’s hesitant to remove from the wound they’ve embedded themselves in. “There’s. I’m assuming you have. That you wouldn’t still be doing this. If there was a way to save her.”

“No,” Lloyd says, with a shake of his head. “If we could save Martel…”

He trails off, the weight of the unsaid and the truth heavy.

( _The question he asked Mithos weeks ago still rings in his ears._

 _“Would you be satisfied, living in a world without your sister?”_ )

“Right,” Mithos says, distant. It’s like he’s not really here at all. “What. What goes wrong?” His fists clench, the only movement he’s made. “My plan should be perfect, Colette is the closest match—”

“Martel doesn’t want to stay,” Lloyd interrupts.

He watches Mithos’ eyes narrow.

“Don’t believe me?” Lloyd guesses.

“No,” Mithos admits.

Lloyd nods slowly. Shoves his hands under his armpits again, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “That’s fair,” he says. Why would Mithos take his word for it? Mithos barely believes Martel, when she tells him the same in—a few hours. Less than twelve. Less than ten.

They’re getting so close to the end of this ( _about twenty four hours, and it’ll all be done_ ), and it makes Lloyd colder than the snow falling around him does. ( _Maybe it’s a good thing, he didn’t take Zelos out tonight. The snow seems heavier. Colder._ _Zelos would hate that._ ) Lloyd breathes, a long inhale, a long exhale, letting the cold burn his lungs, eat at his anxieties.

What if this time’s the one? What if this time isn’t?

What if he still has to put his sword through Mithos’ chest, twelve hours from now, and then again for good, twelve more hours after that?

( _He’s kind of glad he forgot his swords at the inn, because if Mithos asked to end it now, he might not find a good enough reason to refuse._

 _Oh, except—_ )

“Martel doesn’t die, exactly,” Lloyd whispers. He’s not sure why, but. He’s already told Mithos so much else. Might as well tell him this, too, especially since he normally doesn’t live long enough to see it. “She… She fuses with the tree, and becomes its new guardian spirit.”

The words are a little too big for his mouth, a little clunky on his tongue—it’s not something he understands, very well. But he thinks Mithos deserves to know.

“Oh,” Mithos says. There’s a quiet kind of hope, a faint puff of cold air exhaled from his mouth.

“But she doesn’t, um, she doesn’t remember—” Lloyd adds, quickly. He doesn’t want to get Mithos’ hopes up, too high.

“Oh.” This time, Mithos’ voice is sharper, his eyes narrowed. There’s no puff of air, this time. Just a scowl. “That’s worse,” he declares, with a cold kind of sincerity Lloyd had expected, but still makes him shiver much more than the cold wind does.

Lloyd nods. Hugs himself.

“Figured,” he says. “I just… wanted you to know.”

Mithos nods, short, sharp.

“…Thank you,” he says, at length. “For telling me.”

Lloyd nods again, bracing himself against the cold. He always forgets how cold it is, tonight. Or maybe he’s usually more distracted. ( _Better to think about the cold than about Zelos, don’t think about Zelos, it’ll be fine_

 _butwhatifthisistheonewherehesavesmithosandloseszelosinstead_ )

“Um,” Lloyd says. He wants to go back to the inn. He doesn’t want to leave this conversation with Mithos unfinished. He pushes snow out of his hair. “Does this… change? Anything?”

Mithos hesitates. His eyes are fixed on the skyline, so still and so unbothered by the snow that clings to him he looks like he’s not even in this picture. Lloyd tries not to be impatient. Tries not to fidget too much. ( _Mithos has had 4000 years to build something he’s now watching crumble, you can’t just RUSH realizations like this but also please can he hurry it up just a little_ —)

“I don’t know,” Mithos whispers.

Lloyd licks his lips. Kicks his toes against the snow beneath him.

“Okay,” he says.

That’s… all he can ask, isn’t it?

( _go go go_

_wait wait wait_

_don’t blow it just because you’re worried_

_things with Zelos might not even be broken_ )

Mithos looks like he has another thought he’s wrestling with so Lloyd inhales slowly through his nose, letting the cold burn his nostrils and fill him up, give himself something to think about while he waits for Mithos to come to his conclusion. Be in this moment, Lloyd, it’s not that hard. He shoves his hands in his pockets again. Watches Mithos cock his head. Watches Mithos brush snow off his shoulders, like he’s come to life again.

“At least, I don’t think it makes any kind of change you want to hear,” Mithos says, loud and cold. He scoffs, short. “‘ _I’m not giving up until I find a way for everyone to live_ ’…” He recites—words Lloyd spoke just a few hours ago—and shakes his head. The smile he sends Lloyd is cruel. “You really are so naïve, Lloyd. You still think that’s possible? After all you’ve seen?”

“I’ve already saved a few lives,” Lloyd counters, defensive. ( _Corrine's._ _Botta’s, and those other Renegades that were with him and Rodyle’s base. It’s been quite a few loops since they last died. And he’s been saving Zelos, time and time and time again._ ) He takes the leap: “Why not yours?”

Mithos shakes his head and he laughs.

“I can’t _stay_ in this world, Lloyd,” he says. “After all the things I’ve done to it? After all the people I’ve killed?”

“But—”

“Millions, Lloyd. Millions have died in my name or by my hand.”

There’s a sharpness in his voice, but no anger, just an unrelenting softness—facts that will not be changed, numbers that don’t scare him anymore. He looks at Lloyd with eyes much too tired, much too old, to be sitting in the face of a 14-year-old boy.

“It’s no wonder Kratos runs,” he whispers, with a shrug and a little laugh. His eyes turn cold. “Are you sure you want him to stay?”

Lloyd scowls. “He’s not going to do any better dealing with his regrets _alone,_ in _space_.”

( _But is 4000 years of regrets a wound a boy like him can heal? For his father? For the immortal standing before him now?_ )

“Hm,” Mithos says.

“What?”

Mithos doesn’t answer, just turns away.

“ _What_!” Lloyd demands, stepping towards Mithos, anger striking like a match in his gut. “If you have something to say, then spit it—”

“Zelos watched us leave the inn together.”

Lloyd’s heart stops.

The fire of his anger is blown out by a cold wind.

Mithos turns to him, the raise of his eyebrows too knowing, his smile too sharp.

“I saw him in the window,” Mithos continues, and Lloyd’s already backing up and tearing down the street. He leaves Mithos there— _it’s fine it’s fine Mithos knows his own damn way home_ —and he bolts, boots slipping in the snow but his momentum carrying him ultimately forward even as he stumbles. No no no _no._

He forgets to shut the door of the inn behind him which he gets yelled at for but he doesn’t hear it, mind roaring with worry and the sound of his feet on the stairs as he takes them two at a time. Zelos’ door is still closed. That could mean anything. Lloyd’s well aware he’s going to wake the whole inn like this but he hits the closed door with his fist and his arm in a frantic _bang bang bang._

No answer.

 _Bang bang bang_ again.

“ZELOS!” he calls, louder than he should, but worry grips his throat too tightly for him to get the plea out at any other volume. “Zelos _please please please_ tell me you’re in there!”

Still nothing. Lloyd leans his head and all his weight against the door, terror clawing at his stomach. Maybe he should wake Sheena or Colette. Maybe they’ve seen Zelos. Maybe he’s with one of them. Maybe he left but if he left then where did he go, what’s he doing, where is Lloyd supposed to find him—dead in a ditch? _Haha no don’t joke like that don’t joke_ —Zelos loves his dramatics too much anyway it’ll be tomorrow or never—but what if Mithos was the tipping point—what if what if what if—

The doorknob turns. Lloyd leaps back so he won’t fall right into Zelos.

Zelos opens the door just a fraction, one violet eye peeking through the crack at Lloyd. Lloyd can see the scowl in the turn of Zelos’ lips, but the sight of him at all still sparks overwhelming relief in his chest.

“What is it?” Zelos asks, cold, apparently too upset for pet-names or teasing. That’s fair. That’s fine. He’s not dead yet there’s still time to fix things.

“Oh thank goodness,” is all Lloyd can get out on his exhale, pushing his weight a little bit against the door because ( _now isn’t the time but_ ) he wants to be closer to Zelos. “I wasn’t sure if that had fucked everything up entirely or not and I was starting to fear that I’d have to go see if you’d jumped off a bridge or something!!”

It all comes out in a rush and a high, nervous laugh, and either that or the words themselves startle Zelos enough for the door to open more than an inch. There’s almost a foot open now.

“Pardon?” Zelos says.

Lloyd can see how Zelos’ shoulders are all tense, now, even if his face is carefully blank. That was a bad place to open this conversation, huh? Shit fuck shit fuck.

“Okay listen sorry I’m kind of freaking out,” Lloyd stammers in explanation.

“I can see that,” Zelos says, eyes slowly narrowing. Normally Lloyd would expect a sort of _that-was-obvious,-honey_ look from Zelos but Zelos is all walls and caution, expression carefully guarded. No wonder, really, if Lloyd thinks about it!! Zelos’ trust is a careful, delicate thing and Lloyd definitely just picked up over his head and tossed it on the ground like it was some expensive vase he wanted to shatter.

Lloyd? Working with _Mithos_? Why would anyone trust that!!

Lloyd lets out another nervous, startled laugh, raking a hand through his hair. He bounces on his heels with his nervous energy. He can explain but maybe shouldn’t do that in the hallway, though he really doubts a closed door will do much—even if the doors in Tethe’alla _are_ much thicker than the Sylvarant ones, thanks technology—if he can’t start modulating his volume. He pushes for it anyway.

“Can I come in?” he asks, desperate. “Please.”

Zelos hesitates. Looks Lloyd up and down.

“ _Please_ ,” Lloyd repeats.

Zelos must decide he wants answers bad enough. Lloyd expects a _fine fine it’s not like you’d go even if I told you anyway_ but he doesn’t get that, just a cold shoulder as Zelos stops bracing the half-closed door and makes his way to the window of his room, looking out to the snow rather at Lloyd, which alone is telling of how upset he is. Fuck fuck fuck—

 _It’s fine it’s fine_ it’s not completely broken yet he’s still _here_.

“Okay, so,” Lloyd closes the door behind him. Stands there and fidgets, bouncing on his heels with all his nervous energy. He tries to pick a good place to start. There really isn’t one other than: “I’ve been time traveling.”

Zelos looks up, startled.

“What?”

“Sorry I have to start there or the rest of this isn’t going to make any sense,” Lloyd explains, words coming fast as his nervousness bubbles up and out of him.

Zelos scowls a second more, and then he laughs. Lloyd should be relieved, but he knows a front when he sees one. Zelos face becomes a playful smile, eyes narrowed in fake concern, and he rolls his shoulders back as he takes a half step towards Lloyd.

“Come on now. You sure you didn’t just hit your head, honey?” The _honey_ should be a good sign but Lloyd can hear how fake it is. “Have a bad dream, maybe?” Zelos’ eyes darken. “…Something worse?”

Lloyd snaps.

“OKAY! LOOK! I _know_ about you being a triple agent, and I _know_ you’re like _thiiiis_ close—” he holds his hand up for emphasis, thumb and forefinger held barely apart from each other, as he leans towards Zelos in his frantic pitch of almost-anger— “to doing something incredibly stupid tomorrow like suicide via having us murder you! And if it’s not that, then it’s fake betraying us so that you can get your hands on some aionis, which I _think_ Kratos told you to do but honestly Zelos I’m more scared it’s gonna be the former you go for and—”

Anger breaks into despair, the moment he _thinks_ about voicing that bit aloud. He puts his head in his hands, choking on a sob and all the air in his lungs. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to be real. But he can’t keep it from escaping from his lungs, as his he hits headfirst against this wall of inevitability and despair and has to try and reconcile it, he can never reconcile it—

“ _Fuck,_ ” he curses, around his tears. He presses his knuckles into his eyeballs. “I don’t- I don’t want to- I don’t _want_ to kill you again!! It’s not fair!!”

He’s whining like a child and that’s not fair either. Not fair that he can’t stop. Not fair to Zelos. Lloyd tries to compose himself.

“Sorry sorry sorry,” he says. He scrubs at his eyes. Doesn’t trust himself enough to look up at Zelos. “I’m just really freaking out and I thought that this time would be the last time but then Mithos went and threw a wrench in everything and I don’t- I don’t wanna lose you, Zelos. I don’t wanna lose you.”

Zelos doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then his hands find Lloyd’s shoulder, Lloyd’s back, a gentle push and tug to lead him towards the door as he says:

“Okaaay, maybe we should go outside if you’re going to keep yelling, because I can’t imagine you _want_ to wake the whole inn!”

It’s chipper—( _a front_ )—and kind of nervous—( _probably real_ )—and Lloyd _appreciates_ that Zelos is thinking about this and if Zelos _is_ thinking about this that’s probably a good sign. Him being willing to listen at all is good, isn’t it?

But.

Lloyd remembers how cold it is outside, that the snow is worse than normal tonight—or maybe this is normal and he’s just forgotten—and he digs in his heels instead, pushing back against Zelos so they don’t go anywhere.

“No, no,” he insists. “I _know_ you hate snow, and it’s pretty bad out there right now.”

Zelos stops dead in his tracks. It’s like it takes a moment for him to start breathing again. Lloyd realizes belatedly that Zelos almost definitely hasn’t told him he hates snow—at least not in _detail_ —this loop, so that’s probably why, isn’t it? Something that’s a laugh but comes out kind of like a sob because he’s still trying not to think about Zelos dead in his arms tomorrow escapes Lloyd’s lungs.

“Honey, I’m fine,” Zelos says, at length. This _honey_ sounds a little more sincere than the last. Lloyd could almost melt under it. “I’m already in Flanoir, the _city of fucking snow_.” There’s an edge to his voice and the joke, but underneath it is a kind of sincerity Zelos so rarely reaches. “I had my panic attack and was done with it, I’m good.”

Lloyd laughs a little easier now, relieved, but keeps his feet planted where they are.

“I’m good too, really, I’ll stop yelling,” he promises. He doesn’t want to move from this spot. He doesn’t want Zelos to let go of him. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, I want to stay here.”

It takes Zelos a moment to relent, but he _does_ relent.

“Fine, fine!” he says. He starts to let go of Lloyd, then reconsiders, which Lloyd is grateful for, the heat and weight of Zelos’ palm to his back more grounding than anything else is right now. Zelos gently pushes Lloyd towards the bed, and Lloyd follows willingly. “Let’s sit you down, though.”

Lloyd lets Zelos sit him down, but he grabs Zelos by the arm before Zelos can move away.

“Please,” Lloyd whispers.

It’s _genuine_ confusion that flashes across Zelos’ face, confusion and something that looks a little small and cornered. He recovers after a second, fronted annoyance and an exaggerated sigh as he plops himself down next to Lloyd as requested. “Fine, _fiiine_!” he says, rolling his eyes. “Just _don’t_ get your snot all over my clothes.”

Lloyd laughs and tries not to sniffle. “I won’t,” he promises, pressing his side up against Zelos’ so their shoulders are touching and arms flush together. He relishes in how solid Zelos is, how warm, how _alive._

“You better have a good explanation for what you were doing out there with that little shit, too,” Zelos says—and the anger is back in his voice, anger he doesn’t bother hiding, anger and _hurt_ and Lloyd wilts under the sound of it. He deserves that anger, though.

“Do you believe me about the time traveling thing?” Lloyd asks.

“I mean…” Zelos hesitates, chewing on the question and his answer. He doesn’t seem to like it one bit, but he admits: “Yeah. Guess so. It’s not like I told anyone about the aionis or how I intended to get it. Or, uh.” He clears his throat. Fixes his eyes on the opposite wall. “The other thing I was considering.”

Lloyd squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to think about it, a nervous half-sob-half-laugh bubbling out of his lungs again. It’s fine. It’s fine. Still time to convince Zelos otherwise. It’s fine. Don’t think about it.

“Anyway uh,” Zelos says hastily. “It’s convincing enough evidence, I guess. Got a reason why, though?”

A topic change. Lloyd can work with that.

“The first time I did this journey… didn’t go great, exactly,” he answers. It wasn’t awful. But he didn’t trust Kratos even an inch, because he didn’t know. The way he handled things with Mithos was sloppy, left much room for improvement. And, he got Zelos to the end of the journey alive, sure. But they weren’t _close._ And that Zelos, that time… he just thought Lloyd was the right thing to back. The strongest player, the safest option. It wasn’t that he _trusted_ Lloyd.

( _He didn’t even want anything to do with Lloyd after the journey was done._ )

“So…” Lloyd continues, quiet. “Origin offered me a chance to go back and do it again. And I took it.”

( _It occurs to him, later, that Zelos probably didn’t know who or what Origin is, but Zelos didn’t ask, so._ )

“Things… kept going wrong, though,” Lloyd adds. “So I’ve had to keep doing them over.”

He turns to look at Zelos, who is just kind of… gaping at him.

“How… many times?” he asks.

Lloyd shrugs.

“Lost count.”

“Right.”

Sounds like Zelos doesn’t know how to feel about that. Lloyd guesses he can’t blame him. He puts his head against Zelos’ shoulder, selfish, but… wanting to be as close as Zelos will let him get, right now. He could drown in this warmth. The reassurance brought with it.

“I really did think this time was gonna be the last one,” Lloyd says, with a long sigh. “And then…”

“Mithos,” Zelos guesses.

Lloyd nods. “Yeah. I mean.” He fidgets. Zelos is not going to like this bit. But Zelos trusts him more the more honest he is, and he’s already dented that trust enough by not being able to mention the time travel stuff to Zelos this whole journey. “I’m not too upset about Mithos. I want to help him too, if I can, but. If he messes—”

Zelos interrupts with a sharp laugh, pushing away from Lloyd. “You’re _kidding!_ ” he demands, twisting towards Lloyd, bringing one leg up on the bed and folding it under him so he can twist properly. “You want to save _him_? He’s a psychopath!”

“He’s _grieving,_ ” Lloyd counters.

“And has twisted the world into some fucked up monstrosity in that grief!” Zelos’ anger leaves no room for argument, but he presses on anyway, just in case. “Every person who’s died at the hands of the Desians? His fault! All that shit Colette went through? _His fault_.”

Lloyd flinches. If Zelos is good at anything, it’s saying exactly the right words to get under your skin. He kind of hates that. But he supposes he deserves it.

“I know,” Lloyd whispers. He shivers at the lack of Zelos’ warmth. Mithos’ words play back in his head. _I can’t stay in this world, Lloyd. After all the things I’ve done to it?_ Lloyd inhales. Exhales. “But he… he just wanted to ask me a few things, about how this journey ends. I didn’t want to deny him that.”

“You think he’s just gonna _fix_ the world he broke?” Zelos scoffs.

“Well he won’t if we don’t give him the chance,” Lloyd counters.

He regrets it almost instantly, because—even if he _believes_ that, firmly, wants to follow through on it… He can see the way the words make Zelos turn in on himself, the way Zelos’ eyes darken and narrow, gears turning towards _distrust distrust distrust_ and Lloyd bites his tongue and fidgets some more, feeling this start to slip out of his hands like water between his fingers. He tries to scoop it all back up. His hand moves to Zelos’ knee and he grips it and holds on because he needs that reassurance right now, that Zelos is warm and alive and not cold and—

“No, look, listen,” Lloyd says, as fast as he can get the words out past his racing mind. “Listen. I’m not gonna choose him over any of you! I just wanted to get him thinking about it! I’m tired- of- of killing him, Zelos. I’m tired of killing people.”

_I’m tired of killing you, most of all._

Zelos still looks like he wants to retreat. Lloyd’s other hand finds his arm, pulling him a little closer, just needing to _feel_ how warm Zelos is even as his expression turns cold.

“But if it’s- if it’s you or him,” Lloyd promises, tears burning in his eyes. “I’d pick you every time.”

Maybe this is too sincere!! Maybe this is too much!! Maybe he looks like an idiot!! He doesn’t care. He grips Zelos tight enough that it _must_ hurt but he wants Zelos to _feel_ how much he means it, he wants to- he needs to feel how hot and here Zelos is, because the memory of Zelos as cold as Flanoir’s night in his arms is intrusive and he, he—

“I can’t fucking kill you again, Zelos,” he chokes, around tears that won’t stop falling.

Zelos looks… cornered. But he doesn’t push Lloyd off. He doesn’t break Lloyd’s gaze.

Quietly, he asks:

“How… many times have you before?”

Lloyd swallows. Tries not to choke on the memories. He thinks for a second he sees too much red around Zelos’ mouth but it’s gotta be a trick of the light, Zelos’ skin is still warm.

“Once,” he manages to say, somehow. “But.” He pushes himself closer. Climbs onto the bed, pushing his knees against Zelos’ leg. “I’ve had to watch you die three times.”

Zelos goes… very pale, his freckles stark against his skin. He looks like the air just got punched out of him.

Lloyd laughs, nervous, the reality of the things he’s seen and never really had time to deal with crashing over him like wave after wave after wave on the shore. “Once we’re in that moment it doesn’t stop,” he whispers, fervent. “If I don’t, someone else does—”

“Lloyd,” Zelos whispers.

“No matter what I do once we’re there—”

“ _Lloyd_.”

He breaks off, choking on the taste of Zelos’ blood in his mouth, trying to banish the sensation of Zelos’ cold face cold hands cold lips. He _needs_ to feel how alive Zelos is, right now, so he wraps his arms around Zelos’ back and pulls him close, burying his face in Zelos’ chest. He can feel Zelos inhale, exhale. He can hear Zelos’ heart beat. Lloyd chokes on his inhale, again on his exhale, the air not wanting to go into his lungs right. But. Right now, Zelos is very warm and very _very_ alive. That’s enough.

Zelos remains very still, his heartbeat somewhat erratic against Lloyd’s forehead.

“You, uh,” he says, after a moment. “You good, honey?”

Lloyd sniffles, realizes he’s just ugly sobbing against Zelos’ chest. He laughs. He sobs. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Sorry sorry sorry I just.” He clings a little tighter to Zelos. Wraps his fingers around Zelos’ shirt. Zelos is so _warm_. “You’re alive. I want you to stay alive. I just want you to stay alive.”

“Um.”

“Please, Zelos,” Lloyd begs. “Please please promise me you’ll stay alive.”

“Honey,” Zelos says, somewhat exasperated. But he’s saying _honey_ again, so.

“ _Please,_ Zelos.”

Zelos hesitates. One hand finds Lloyd’s back and pushes him closer, his other hand finds the back of Lloyd’s head, tucks it under his chin. His presses his face into Lloyd’s hair. Breathes. Lloyd clings tighter. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to face the cold.

After a long, long moment, Zelos sighs.

“Alright, alright,” Zelos mumbles. “I promise I won’t get myself killed on purpose.” His voice is soft, breath warm as it stirs Lloyd’s hair. Then he laughs, and that’s warm too, his chest shaking under Lloyd with the effort. “Can’t promise not dying, though. Who knows what will happen.”

Lloyd laughs. “Guess that’s fair,” he says. He turns his face into Zelos’ chest, mumbling “thank you thank you thank you” against Zelos’ skin. Zelos kind of freezes up, but his heart doesn’t stop beating, and he clings to Lloyd just as tight.

It’ll be fine.

Lloyd doesn’t know what Mithos will do, but it’ll be fine.

Zelos is alive.


End file.
